Black Kerthon's Doom (17 page)

"I might, but I am not sure how to fight."

"Just stop them!"

Janst's sword caught the other leg of Michak and the High King fell forward on his stomach.

"Please roll over. I do not like striking a man in the back. I.."

There was a small thud and Janst's eyes rolled back and he staggered to the floor. The dagger lodged in his back reflected the sunlight into Michak's eyes.

"I, however, have no such qualms," said Chraset, who stepped over the dead man and pulled out his knife, wiped it with a cloth and tucked it away. "I'm sorry I did not arrive earlier. There was weeding to do in the rose garden. I hope I am not too late?"

"No," replied the High King, who with the help of Chraset and Prosty sat on the throne. The High King was bleeding in several places but the pain was not unbearable. Mulane sent a guard for Bayernal who came shuffling in with his bag of herbs and muttered to himself and shook his head. The High King looked at Prosty and winced as Bayernal administered to him.

"What is your business? You neither helped nor hindered Kaell or Janst? And where is Kaell?" Kaell had disappeared after Janst's entrance with two guards in pursuit. They returned just after Bayernal's arrival with no success in their chase.

"I did not see him go," said Prosty. "I may be his superior in power but not in malice. I lost my taste for this game long ago."

"But you kept sending me your potions."

"Ah, but they were weaker each day. If I had kept up the original dosage, you would never have found the strength to release yourself. I wish to leave Nantitet and continue my journey."

"Just like that? No, I do not think so. You have had a part in this plan of Kaell's and you shall not leave until you have assisted in his removal at the very least."

"As you wish," said Prosty.

"Come with me," said Mulane. "I need to know more about the mind of Kaell. You can talk while I dine. I must get my strength up. I cannot do my duty in this condition."

"It'll take more than one meal," said Prosty.

"It's a start."

The High King watched the wizard depart. He was puzzled by Prosty and it was beyond him to figure the fellow's motives. Janst had never reported if he had found out what interested the wizard. At least Kaell had shown his motives now and Michak could move against him. Chraset stood by, directing the cleanup of the throne room. Janst's body had already been removed when Ransal entered, his face pale as he looked at his father's blood.

"Don't worry. I shall live. You don't have to be High King yet."

"Is it painful?"

"Yes, but I have had wounds just as painful in the past."

"You have?"

"Your father was quite the warrior before you were born," said Bayernal. "He had more scar tissue than muscle at that time of his life."

"Really?" There was a note of awe in Ransal's voice that made the High King smile.

"It wasn't very glamorous," said Michak. "Don't get any ideas. You don't have the training I did."

"Can I have training?"

"I guess so. I hoped that my son wouldn't need it, but times don't change as much as I thought."

"No indeed," agreed Bayernal.

"Chraset, go find Mulane and send a guard for Didran. I want Kaell found immediately. He is wounded badly. Why wasn't there enough blood to trail him? Tell them to come to me immediately after Mulane is rested and armed. Mulane is very dangerous even without a sword and I need him."

"Did you wound Kaell?" asked Ransal.

"Yes, I did. Now you be careful. I think the man's mad. There's no telling what he may do."

Kaell left his quarters with his pack. He had gathered as much as he needed from his supplies and went to the library. His arm was throbbing and he could no longer lift it but the spell of fire had stopped the bleeding although it intensified the pain. He walked to the fireplace and pressed a stone underneath the mantelpiece. There was a groan as the fireplace swung outward and stale air greeted the wizard. He removed a torch from the wall and bent down to enter the narrow passage. The fireplace swung back with a dull thud and he was gone.

It was ironic that Prosty's search in the older part of the library for clues to Kerthon's notebooks had uncovered an unlabeled diagram that proved to be of the secret passages of the castle. Many were still known of course but there were several noted on the diagram that had not been seen in generations. Kaell had asked some old-timers in the castle about certain areas of the palace but no one had heard of passages in those areas. Kaell had ample time to explore them and found several that were layered in generations of dust. He hid the diagram in one of the passages so his passageways wouldn't be revealed to anyone else. He shuffled to a large chamber that had some furnishings in it. It had belonged to a woman he was certain. A mistress of some sort but he could not tell the age of the furnishing and it was impossible to know how fast the dust covered things up.

He lay down on the bed and quickly succumbed to the pain. He slept for hours and when he awoke the pain was sharper when he moved but not so intense. He knew they would search for him and only Prosty would be able to find him if he did not protect himself against sendings. But his strength was not to be counted on for another day or two. Still, he felt safe because Prosty would have to touch this exact spot with his mind and since it was not known to exist that likelihood was small. Also, if he did not use his powers Prosty would not be able to sense him. He planned to rest for a day or two and then work his revenge. Prosty would be difficult to attack because of his magic. Kaell would need all his strength for that test. But the High King had a son and what would be better than killing the son? Corrupting the son? That would be a challenge and quite satisfying if it worked. Perhaps the son could kill the father. Wouldn't that be ideal? Perhaps his rest could wait. Seeds must be sown.

Ransal returned to his room to rest and ponder his future. He was proud of his father. He did not remember if he had ever been proud of him before. But he was now. And his father promised to teach him to be a master swordsman and to defend the Empire. It was a good thought and he hoped it would carry over into his dreams.

He did not know when he fell asleep but he knew he was in the arena and his father was seated at his box. Ransal saw that he was clad in armor and carried his father's sword. The crowd cheered for him and he held his sword high in the air. Across the arena, a gate open and he tried to see into the darkness but his opponent could not be seen. Then he saw the feet move out of the shadow and then the entire figure that carried a mace and a battle-axe but no shield. Ransal knew his opponent did not fear death and he swallowed and found his throat to be dry. This would be his first hand-to-hand combat and it would be to the death.

The figure dashed forward and Ransal barely had enough time to move out of the way. He raised his shield and the mace splintered it. His arm was numb and he could not raise it. Then he saw the face of his opponent. It was his dead brother, Mantan!

The mace thundered against his head and he was down. Blood streamed into his eyes. He saw a shadowy shape raise the battle-axe and look to the High King. Ransal followed his gaze and saw his father with his thumb pointing down.

No! cried Ransal, but the axe came down swiftly.

He woke with a start. He was breathing in gasps and drenched in sweat. He looked about him, the room was dark, but he knew he was not alone. He peered into the dark corners but he could not see anyone.

"Who's there?" He could hear someone breathing but he couldn't tell where it came from.

"I hear you breathing. Who's there?"

"Be calm, Ransal. I am here to help you."

"Who are you?"

"A friend. I want to help you find your place next to your father, instead of the memory of your brother. Would you like that?"

"Yes. Depends. What do you want?"

"All in good time. I can make you a great High King, greater than any who have ruled. Isn't that what you want?"

"Yes, but at what cost? And why don't you show yourself?"

"I must be sure you are committed to excellence. Your father does not appreciate my skills and I must be discreet. Are you ready to begin training?"

"Now?"

"Of course now. Why should we wait?"

"I need to know more. Why should I trust you?"

"Why should you trust anyone? You are marked. Your father's enemies will kill you or your father will kill you. What choice do you have?"

"I need information. Tell me what this training will be."

"In due time."

"I shall call the guards!"

"Stubborn fool. We shall do it the hard way, then. I will not be gentle."

A shadow detached itself from the corner and rose over Ransal. A spectral arm reached out and an icy hand gripped his shoulder. A numbing sensation spread through his body. He fell to the floor and remembered no more.

It was overcast when they approached the ruins of the tower and the smell of rain was in the air. They were tired and cold and gave little thought to their danger. Sleep cried out to them and their thought was for food and a warm place to lie down. Gareth decided to make camp for the night and the relief of his companions was audible. They now had a chance to remove their battered boots and tend to the swollen feet inside. The ache in their muscles gave way to immobility as they relaxed from their trial in the mountains. Some sat where they had stopped while a few had the strength to gather the fuel for the meager fire that Gareth allowed.

Gareth had led them to a hollow far from the road. There were enough trees to deaden any noise they would make and the overcast sky would not betray the smoke from their fire. The ground was damp in places but no one minded.

Their company had been decreased by three; Hansa and Macelan to the Amogrihens and later by Higoth, who had fallen from a narrow footpath during their flight in the mountains. But another, the Witch Neheva, had joined the company and so it was twenty damp figures that settled into a hollow and prepared two small fires to heat their meals and warm themselves.

As night fell, the raven-hair beauty in the long black cloak walked from the camp and shortly returned as the Witch.

Gareth looked at her hard features and she nodded.

"I had forgotten that I changed with the coming of night. I did not remember until last night when you reminded me. It has been many years since I have enjoyed the company of mortals, if enjoy is the proper word to use. I recall that the transformation is not comforting to most mortals so I removed myself until it was done."

"Thank you for your concern," said Gareth.

"It is nothing. But now I wish to visit the tower. Do not wait for me beyond midday. If I haven't returned by then you shall never see me again."

"I will send someone with you."

"Not necessary, Gareth. Your people need to rest. There are many trials ahead of you and you will not receive assistance from me. Soon we will be too far from my woods and beyond my power to help you even if that were my desire. Rest and see to your strength. You of all people should not venture too close to the tower. Its allure will increase for you. Beware, Gareth."

She turned and walked into the blackness and was gone. Gareth watched her long after she had vanished and he tugged at his beard. He returned to the fire, puzzling to himself.

"I will follow her," he said.

"She is dangerous," said Brice. "And you are overmatched." Gareth looked sharply at Brice. "Do not take the chance."

"I must find out what she does. She may not be a threat to us but we may find out something important."

"I will go," said Serada. "You must not risk yourself, Gareth. I am expendable." He shivered as he spoke those words. Gareth smiled, nodded his head and turned slowly toward Serada.

"Well spoken, but you are too new to this business. You may find it unpleasant."

"Do not go," said Daura to her brother.

"I must hurry, she's too far ahead."

"Serada and I will go," said Brice. "Gareth must stay. I have been in the tower before and can guide Serada to its entrances."

"But you swore never to enter it again," protested Gareth.

"And I shall not."

Gareth jutted his beard out and Brice his chest, but neither gave in. Suddenly, Serada ran off in the direction of the tower. Brice looked at Gareth and gave chase.

"Serada has decided for us," he called to Gareth. He ran quickly and gained ground on Serada.

"We spent too much time discussing the situation," said Mira. "If an enemy had been nearby we'd be dead."

"I have lost my ability for clear thinking," said Gareth. "I did not expect to be chased out of our camp, I did not expect to lose Hansa and I certainly did not expect to run into witches and sorcerers. I am out of my depth and I do not know which way to turn."

"Just rest," said Daura. "Right now that is the best thing you can do."

"I guess you're right. Mira, an hour before dawn send someone out to look for our three wanderers. I do not doubt that Neheva will return; I don't anticipate anything overcoming her but Serada is green and Brice too superstitious to be unscathed by what they may experience."

Gareth sat heavily to the ground and stared into the fire. Daura sat behind him and laid him back upon her lap. Mira posted guards and made sure everyone was fed and then she stood watch over Gareth and Daura, who slipped into sleep not long after. It was midnight when Mira nodded off and she did not notice that everyone was asleep except for a lean black shadow on the edge of the hollow.

Serada felt the strong hand grip his shoulder. He whirled and brought up his sword but he was thrown to the ground before he could recognize Brice.

"Brice! Sorry, I didn't expect you to catch me so fast."

"This is not a place to run blindly. Macelan would have known that. I'm surprised he didn't tell you of it."

"No, he spoke very little about the tower. He did speak quite a bit about Daura."

"I'm not surprised. Gareth seemed to be amused by the attention Daura drew from Macelan. Apparently, Daura did not mind, either. But we must go quickly. The witch is too far ahead. We must search the dark corners one by one."